#@الله AI Blood Testalent TanzTanz Meat$$$
AI Mythology#@”Small Timers”
(Part 1, pp 1-35)
#@“Small
Timers” or “Epic_BlowJobs/Melody(.., Being The Sceptic Germfroufroufree story
of Epic Blowjobs Melody.Lom & His Brother the AXXXExaxctdstdth same guyman,
but #@QuiteTheTrickOfThelIG@HT.Y/dO.MOV “It is
probably Friday,” judged “JaIt’s#@ ‘Mme de Carneilhan’” barely awake. “I smell
the fish, or do I sense the fish, what do you prefer, Byron? Michael smelled
the fish. I, “JaIt’s#@ ‘Mme de Carneilhan,’” I’m without the fish.”
A large alimentation general house occupied the corner of the street. When he
rented a “studio all-comfort” Byron had sacrificed chic to commodity &
couldn’t stop beating himself for that. Especially on the days of the fish, the
days of the cabbages, & the days of the melons.
#@CanYouHelpMeOutWithMy#Melon (sic) In the bathroom kitchen, the cleaning lady
who was cleaning the dishes did not mark more than 9:30 & so Byron went
back to his sleep. “Completely tired…” Not without a feeling of guilt that came
from far & all the way over to him, him, Byron, from a childhood ridden by
the small blows of the crop distributed by the hand of uberpaterfamilias, a
equitable & dipped in amber dosed with Blomstedt summers. Yesteryear, I
bizzed the woman & I remember kissing her cheek. Behind a door, she had
black hair & black lips. I remember the feel of her cheeks & her flesh,
in the door where I bizzed her compressed like a meal bizzed would be. She
whispered something to me, “..equitable…cinglant….” Yesteryear, yes, behind a
door that fatally opened @ 7 o’clock in the winter & @ 6 o’clock in the
summer, I, Byron & “JaIt’s#@GeorgeClooney’sMustang,” would push each other,
grapple each other, naked-footed, to the one who would not be beaten
first…well-released, worm-skinned, they whispered to each other: ‘I also
remember a very small restaurant…smaller than half a train car…& it had two
floors, the second of which was an extremely tiny hostel which could of course
only host a single guest in it’s tiny quarters.’
#DidUWakeHimUp
#DidUTry2OpenHisEyez
_____________________________________________________________________________________
[INSERT KROSSTLEIGHHAAHHS PIZZERIA]
Teaser:
Act 1.
Scene 1.
Pizza says, ‘We invite people to the part …
[Diagram of us in relation to the Party]
The guests are stuck in Krosstleighhhahh’s basement. We gave them K.
Scene 2.
The Boum
They came to a party
They get stuck in a loop (see Baby Guy Corporation for more information)
‘Peaky wonder is over.’
Working @ the conveyor belt 2 make more of them (see)
Scene 3.
‘We sent the BabyGuy to the basement with ‘Pinkywonder.’ (It’s a cover.) We
leave the K bag there (cf. Leather Boots Basement) We leave the premises. We
leave. We leave the key there. The loop there is activated. It once activated
you just recognize the door, the lock, dumbass. A Bunuel Figure: I assssume
they were getting fed by being filmed by the security camera.
Scene 4.
“In the dream with the snow & the cripple (see Linge du Désir) (sic).”
Act 2.
“We delivered the village a Pizza. The Pizza is underlined!” [The Words]
“It is safe here in Krosstleighhahh’s basement. Come in! No sleep! Nothing. The
Boum upstairs? Dangereux. ‘Well-released.’ Warm-skinned, they would put back
their cribleflussig shoes.
______
“It
doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if they rot more.”
Commence
show, pilot episode.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Prologue:
The First Death of the Tawny or Barn Owl
That night
the Tawny-or-Barn Owl died for the first time. Of course, he did not know that
it was a dress rehearsal and therefore took his death very seriously. He
addressed to himself the most bitter & irritated reproaches. Not that he
judged it revolting to disappear forever—he was too convinced of his being
perfectly useless to anyone, and that’s since his birth. To die revolted him
for this single reason that he then would not learn the end of the story of HH
& Kate. Unbearable idea which filled him with rage during his ultimate
seconds of consciousness. HH & Kate were the only two people that he loved
the most in the world with “Mimi Rourke,” of course…
Pain seized him on the Pont des Arts at around 5:30 in the morning; TOBO was
coming back from an expedition on Rive Gauche. He had spent the better part of
his night #@TheUnbearable&AdiposeGertrudeStein in her salon de la Rue de
Fleurus, then the following hours in the company of Pablo Picasso, Man Ray,
&, moreover, the publisher of a FrancoAmerican Literary Magazine, Eugene
Jolas, who had just returned to Paris after a voluntary exile in Provence in
the suburbs. Pain, here, irradiated in the arm, then the left shoulders of TOBO
who grabbed the handrail & opened his eyes as wide as his owllike eyes. In
the first hours of the dawn, the Pont Neuf was etching toward the Porte Boisé
de Fete Gallante. TOBO fell to his knees. The seconds to follow were
atrocious but suddenly everything
stopped, the intolerable burning went out. It was just a false flag, he
thought, pulling upon the metallic thing, he thought. He put himself back on
feet then in walking mode #@ItWasNothing he said to himself again, #@Nothing.
He accomplished wobbly steps forward, and a lot more which permitted him to
cross the bridge successfully. Having reached the Quai du Lourve, he hesitated,
peaking straight, he could, in a few minutes, go & knock Mimi Rourke’s
door. Rue Coquiere; or he could skirt le Palais du Lourve and via Rue de
Rivoli get to the Palais Royal, where he
roosted. He walked on. With every tiny step he thought a little bit more about
HH which no longer surprised him. He was now dragging himself under arcades
alongside the closed boutiques; the day was peaking a little more every second.
His visual acuity was deadening precipitously, he was getting conscious of it
but at the same time, how strange that is, his visions of things of the past
were getting more acute; there came a moment where he believed that HH Rourke
was standing next to him, was walking in a sidle at his flank, #@“OurBeerWalk;”
how be mistaken re: the so characteristic slender silhouette, enveloped in the
eternal trench coat the color of sand, coiffed in his fashion in his trademark
overtall fox covered aircraft marshalling hat. He closed his eyes, “There’s
rain somewhere, on TV,” someone looks like someone…
If you are
the origin of the attempt
Reject with disdain or contempt
It does not mean a thousand people in bed
(though it could, it had always
it had always been stranded
on the aisle of its unabating fixation
with thousand people in bed
It’s either prestigious or trivial
It’s logged to a memory
gone fallow
is either abhorred
or undifferentiated
there are colorful lights
enthusiasm cum unto nodes
Poke me,
This is what it reminds me of
if I can mention Ovid.
It is said
I don’t recall the name of
the Sommelier.
He reminded me, still does,,
of someone who is someone
who reminds someone of
someone who is reminded
in terms of appearance,
that they’re reminded
that they were reminded
of being reminded of being reminded of
reminding that some
one resembled
someone
“In addition to same mug, more or less
they also have the same bushailing accent, not really an accent.
A sort of resonance from the back of the throat
that doesn’t sound too local, local, earth, that is”
if more was said the lair, til now vacant, would become, fawning
Unoccupied, if I said what I wished to say
well, I have or possess these
Shelves displays of many trinkets,
I would freebase how your appearance generates a majesty which accedes to
duties outside of how long does this last?
This lasts ten years
Glowing, from within, at first
then diplomatically settling
on an osmotic equilibrium
with the w/ the crude
but dependable exterior luminescence
There’s a lot of people to be seen & sometimes you can get fooled
I myself practice spaciousness
I would like
to write or program
a piece of software,
that is an operable contingency tree
which output would be
a random assortment of empty
so-called speech bubbles,
you see, I’ve
never had confidence
in my ability, as a human being,
to draft a truly random
assortment of empty speech
bubbles
In terms of size, placement,
& the illusion of depth
Software can achieve this, yes,
I’m told it can,
I can see it in my mind
it is (to me) like looking
into a lady’s open
handbag,
well,
I dunno about that…” (Aaron Michael Hernandez) …
[P.S.
These bubbles won’t contain speech,
if they can, they’ll be word,
like looking into the nozzle firehose
like pausing game while yr avatar
dwells offscreen.
« My oracle, half sleep,
can I tell you what’s in
the letter ? You tell me what’s
It’s Funkelein:
Phase One:
White
blood White Metal White Nights White Rose White Rose Whiteplum Whitewashed
He uses his wind instrument, a saxophone
as a candle lit with no flame,
I was thinking today how
I was going up the stairs
I read all of them
Between things, narrations, play,
change
stories, whys, notes,
festerings, parks as tight as songs
playfulnesses like
lit up addresses so that you
being in a banlieu in a region
you’ve never travelled to
can find a lot can find the lot
you’ve sought
I opened this notebook of yours
there are thoughts, I’d like to say,
ways of which what you know & how I fingertipped it strolls the dry bed of
certain canyons
clifft by spines
all the way up
Martyring all the up
except the sky
which from my happy depth
snaking amongst
all that I am not
resembles a strip
since it is cloudless
narrow/thin as a mailslot
in a banlieu
fresh & empty & counting no solicitation
[Funkelein Phase 2.]
C’est les memes (10:00, Dogs Out, 10:30 Come Back)
I see all these houses like that
they’ve got walls & roofs
& walls &, having yet to sprout,
grass.
They look like a bodybuilder
could press against them
very hard, & come in in the way he made
or otherwise
He could you the door threshold
& be hard pressed, if interviewed.
To recall a way all that
which in due course of his peregrinations
turns to dust or spinters
shards of conflagrations
puddles are
I come home with the groceries
It was 8 exactly,
scattered mounds
almost drank the beer off the guy
that’s what I used to do
a tall slender man kissing someone underneath
the morning hurts down
in Jacques Rousseau
[Funkelein Phase 3.]
We came in
my head through a hole in the wall
“This is
the first thing I’ve noticed, yes, in fact, his lashes are those of a #@Girl.
You still care for him #@VeryMuch? He smiles. “It’s smiling to matter
#@TheGirthof’Earnesty,’ ‘Caring:’ Explain,
‘We’: Two beings that lived up as three in a sort of nourished wind,
What, the matter is very simple
how many times do I have to tell you that ‘wind’ does not mean ‘wind?’ Here ‘we
have been nourished’ is the same as ‘it had stolen our being’ & the same as
‘the beautiful blossom of trading tips & the house in which we lived which
looked just like costs
a dungeon of hellion banquets of hellion eternity of hellion symbiocity between
we ever were here & actually separated never but in the body
Ah, utmost dinlessnestness
sanctuaried nearly audibly by the plug taped off
this encindering ash column
‘at least, you’re building up FOOD that does not leak an immunity’s to that
which would have brought to the bottom like trolleys or rollerskatings aloud in
a city, vacant, vacant & breezy,
which get shat on by birds often, brutally, especially in the morning…trolleys
are Hard. They’re hard as shit. THAK YOU
TO THE PILLS (ReETIICUULED) #@Sanitary #@TheCompass
[Funkelein
Phase 4.]
In gradient & power (Emerson does it better!)
It’s just
that I forget something,
yet it sit.
The lady is writhing this wheel
the picture of the beer being brought,
which is what I forgot is happening right now,
so I’ve forgotten something
one of the only things
if not the only thing
that makes me happy
or it was there
it was in me
it’s just that
it is there
like a Battlement
& I’m neither,
not a situated of organs
the way even simple bodies are
& not situated
aligned in always
with a topos leveraging the inflated stock
of visibility
when I sit down
I muscle my heel into the cleft between
my buttcheeks
it seems to work for me!
which is what into the alto-relivio is
the bonny ridge of my heel
seeks & even til now
finds whatever he’s listening to
it couldn’t be his hand.
[Funkelein Phase 5.]
#@Séraphirméed--Brümschtallinsch
“I will be as long as it takes to code the day.” [Debuty WWP[1]
Light Jeanpool]
“When the
cylinder had gained enough height the explosions that had terrified the deer
were again replaced by peace.”
So why would somebody prefer to digitalize the bod into something less good
if only
everyone
in this town
as town had
a blossom named
after your name
why would you get rid of a love like this one, huh?
& a body like this?
bodies like these, huh?
What are you thinking here, man?
What are you discovering about yourself?
“You cannot marry the person who smell your dick to start…”
“I know another fire.
Has roots. “ [T. Roethke]
I am motion.
Weeds are cops.
A pile of brush & cuttings
tame
doused in hi-octane petrol
& set aflame,
the tipping shrubs
cut back to bone
for a season lane
to appearance all acclaim
not part of the game
sprouted clones
from a grain
_____________________________________________________________________________________
[Funkelein
Phase 6.]
Beard
growth comes to video…
TO UNFOLD
METAPHORS
EVERYTHING INSIDE
A ROOM JUST A ROOM
THERE’S ONLY ROOMS & THE_CO(space) LORS
They should mark the end, with a particular color
Imagine doing that @ a job interview
or docking with a spaceship
OMG
Imagine you’re the guy, in the spaceship
Apollo 69
OMG
You’re at the commands.
If you know anyone who prefers
their light to flicker chaotically & perpetually
let me know
it’s a lovely hare,
it goes so well with the poem sent to us
by Gauvain Clad, son of Jean-Cul
Clad! The plot was entropy
He had to be switched
he didn’t put it in quotes
the fucking child stayed as a
jest, playing with the canons of my langue
VASCOCONSTRICTOD
VASCODILATION
Could entire world’s current population
fit within the combined area of all
the individual Walmarts separately?
[Funkelein Phase 7.]
It speaks
from remembering
…whenever were away from the car
It’s wonderful & you’ve always done it
always had an accurate design in the eye of your dilettantish yet
fundamentally honest mind.
I shall see if I can help you, Glorious Heralders,
in no way are they glorified, in position they’re
a substitute for matters I’ve always indefensibly, I guess,
found commonplace, #@CanYouHelpMeOutWithMyMelonHere
have dinner then,
[“I partied with your pussy
I partied with your pussy
I partied with your pussy
(I partied with your pussy).” – Gastromaniaks, Rue Martinot, 13400 Aubagne,
France.]
bathe what you will what parts you will
in whatever you can
while you can
it’s not one type of thing being said
this aero past…is not one type
of thing, but that doesn’t mean anything about me,
I describe this catbag to my, you
you say you
we’re having fun,
the rabbi employed to pour wine is somewhat bloated,
I’m surprised she know ‘oath’
she knows ‘oath’?!
‘no’, she said, ‘I don’t know oath… that is
soaked into the lignum,’
Star who stunned crowd in a ‘daring’ red carpet look
so you think you have a solution hometown
‘Iconic Star is Underrecognizeable in Yearbook Picture:
Attignez vos objectives
avec la marque Post-it™.’
I’m
looking I’m looking
it’s like being drunk in my dorm
room or scioned with the one we said “Theratre” too,
‘The Vodka is Freezing’ –Post-it™
“Theatre” + plow + lucidity + other pacts with the wealth of shapes,
‘This is the Last Judgement. Yes. It’s this weekend. It’s Happening Right Now.
P.s. Bono always buys a 2nd plane ticket for an ‘unusual guest,’ men.’
–Post-it™
there are things I will not agree with
I still walk living sleeping
I will ask schizophrenia to agree with where God put his self
‘see, the river in the branches—you’re talking under music—repeat, ‘I’m talking
under music.’ ‘I’m talking under music.’
Daguerriform shadow lineament
cross blue bull
where the archangel flew when I was left behind
Be warm. be warm.
Ha ha—ah, fuck. So.—turns
out I’m even blinder than I
thought I was.
‘Vegan roast, lol.’ –Post-it™
because @ the time I thought it was in the
inaudible ranges
‘Drink Sangria in the Park. Signed, Bonorobotics Incs.’ –Post-it™
I reacted accordingly,
(‘this is something I see often.’)
as if armed with the aerosol delving system
either roaring or in babe
I knew Byron
‘Dear Byron,
Do you prefer to fuck a dead rotting hole filled to the brim to the rotting old
dismembered corpses memory blump blump blump blump & live ‘a little while’
longer (sic) amidst dead rotting empty machines powered by our then almost
completely depleted source #@GoodLuckManJa or clean the bathroom to the
bathroom’s brim (i.e. including the black mould growth garden in the shower)
&, the kitchen, the countertop + shelves + spicerack in our house in our
hometown, one time?!?! Are you aware,
Byron, that this is in fact a rhetorical question in your life!!! ‘Just
kidding’ of course you are. Because we know, Byron, we know what he’s been
through. ‘Toujour le Pire, Byron.’
#@HappyBurthdayToday3February2019: The Fermi Paradox gets an acronym
The answer is that every civilization which achieves a technological basic
understanding of intergalactic travel has discovered and probed Earth
innumerable times and does so continuously, however, Earth, a true trap
presents to technological quagmires impossible to overcome, yes,
the extraterrestreans are overawed by the works of Shakespeare.
‘What a man this Shakespeare is!’ he exclaims. ‘I can’t get over it! How small
the tragic Byron seems beside him!!!—that Byron, who has been able to only
imagine but a single character: his own…Byron simply alots to each of his
characters some characteristics of his own: his pride to one, his hatred to
another, his melancholy to a third, etc., and thus, out of a rich somber &
energetic character he makes several insignificant ones. (#Ja, it’s EUNUCHS.)
& that is not tragedy.” [Alexander
Pushkin of Russia]
[Funkelein
Phase 8.]
Four
words: Taco—Bell—Isth--Open
“Of course
I read the reviews (..all I wanted was a cordless vacuum…)”
–SquallVortexAssimilationCave @yahoo.fr
[1]
Well Wide Programme
He wants
you, he want you stay til the end…
& felt
ecstatic-ashamed
there were gloves put out Byron
it was supposed that one could whence
decades, sack of stomachs, kingdom, how much is wind
to do
‘The Jean condom is a condom for jeans.’ –Post-it™
I almost saw you up there
unearthing your surroundings from the feckless roots (‘#@AxeIt’)
(‘#@GottaGetABarrel’) (‘#@TheBottomOfALake:Explain, Discuss’)
(‘#@‘YouPutTheEarthMapInTheSafe’)
(‘#@YouPutBoodBackOnTheFire’)
(‘#@Never2Late’)
“‘Gotta get a barrel. Fill it with canned Christ.
Dump it in the deepest part of the river by Gottadmlate where’s the treasures
in.’
[‘First, we are to imagine that this is his first sexual experience.’]
Don’t flogret (this) your fishing gear, Byron,
or ‘Richard’s Fishing Gear.’ ‘#@ULiveByARiver’” –Post-it™
disposed to crescentic reservoirs of nourishing liquidity.
& I love the way hearts, the thing in the body, so closely resembles
the body of a little deer: yes, there is the organ
when I tell them that they have a little hart inside
It’s not a metaphor, couldn’t be more clear; they have
the organ in their chest just chests bodies. The organ is here & this
they accept greedily. O, we accept it as well
Of course
It’s proper when it beats, it beats
just like it should beat.
If the heart was to beatbolt constantly
then there would be no music,
there would
be no conversation. This would mean
that the little hart to whom the heart belongs
would be missing his atmosphere.
Here the body would go on living.
But on the other side of the wall
the little hart would be gasping for
breath. He would be always suffocating
for there is for him no way out of it:
for a heart to beat eternally there will
be a little hart to drive through it, one
must not drive through the body.
It is not proper to abandon it on a parking lot or
next to the steering wheel.
Where did you leave them?
Spotted, even here still exposed
& yet I’ve always loved swimming
The bed is where the liver is
The tassel is white
It has four chairs & it stands at a comfortable height
above the floor of the
coproprietaire to the Comprophiliac.
‘Hindsight trouble with reading the messages.’ Dodo
‘Dodo doesn’t have no death exception (lol)
the field::white Cory
The sky’s mask was having stopped
It occupied almost my entire field of vision
‘NOAH CAN SEE’ Dented Dance Thomas
#@2HaveSexWithSex
#@ThereIsAlwaysAMiddleName
#@LoveLikeACactusFeetJesus
#@VELA$$$LFEELAVEEE
#@[Room 23!]@Wall32
[Room 23!@Door33]
#@TheMoreWeDontPayTheLessWePay
#@PerfectSystem
#@GreenArmyEnForce
Did you really change your environment?
You gambled away, Byron! Yala, Byron,
in a surfeit of generic pomp.
“I love that song.
You play it like a dragoon courting death in a flash of self-sacrifice
as keen as insight, an epiphany armored & with the guts of a transformer
pod, a fruit positioned module
scarce any left & now,
& batteries, all the rage,
a so-many-dreams reticence & scape,
you’re invisible now
You got know secrets to conceal
How does it feel?
It’s not working
When we kiss when we kiss
we’re just the mariner blush washing here
seen more reposed where here has
chaotic undertow
Semblance adrift and log withered apposites or
either I cry & name the
mountains (September, November, +
Know this
Know this know this
know this know this know poems
nearly old house perform
It’s coherent
It just describes something impossible—namely a part of a tooth having thoughts
about one or more topics. It would be incoherent if it disagreed with itself,
not reality, see: “I did not scrub my hands with potatoes.
I rub my hands together to wash off the salt & oil after I prepared the
potatoes
The potatoes only had their own skins on them
#@IWasMakingBakedPotatoesOnce
Was this in Hawaii?
“
Google Maps
Embarrassed young man spotted doing this (..)
#@“AsHeAppears2BTurningOver”
#@“HeHasBeenCapturedKneeling”
#@“InAnAwkwardPosition”
[Byron says, “This happened to me @ a private office in a rich city.
The soil dried & settled
nearby old house performed well
til it really old house a’brained, maimed &
deformed
the tongue that is the ladder
phonecalls from the sun.
Your hand is stared away from
Motorschools, what fight was that, man?
The explanation is simple rosary
from now if you
I didn’t know her name was
Fucking Car!
]
20199102
“an immense city not yet filled
with nothing, [where] we’re not talking about anything.”
guys really live in apartments like this and don't see any issue
& Yiy cabt ci)monman yyiy cabtell that yoy wnt excot the oridct of
continuity if the gund haing the opporotto you will understand that we have
come up with solution/Perenity/ààthe entire home perenity. The uhm technology
we have often periss as a continual effort and the collaboration associathing
which rise just naturally You will wnt to due it willful food over when you do
it I like a lot of those times. Thank that to consider the clawide land &
calm morning it’s someday
aHTTHE tvUSHERE
I JUSR WUS THE tv WIKDKEAVE
ALLIS HAOOY HERE A HALL$
Thechambersmeet:Ishoulkd
have tied a millstonearondyout neck.
Juda:Ora glass medallloon, yellow, wih the sun or The Shun embedded in Semen
B; Sun; Stylized & personified #@Stylized & #@PeronLikeFilleted
#@Male:The Sun, Semen, here, grooves with the the sun #@XhzteLinrd
#@Whites
lines
Judah: The sunmedallion is two thirds of a banana lof a desert Eagle 45.
caliber of a banana lllength. It’s on the parking lot
B:23, 23, 23, #@JaIt’sJudas=h. The parking lots bestspot;medallions here,on the
vine, sun fille d with see=men, he c ontinues, A*m I caressing nothing Other
then thezese ##@Sun-MedallionFilled with SemenInAgorgeou2/3OnlyOfAPetiteEEgg of
the pla Plant-based girth of an nondairy based nutritive sun-medallion yello,
phallics shaped & contsstructed in CONGO.
Judah: After—Congo by After—Congo
so
Seriouisly a,d whzt lemonade poured jere it did’t méake much a a blandisher I
know your farther, Cazribou---Crotte Crotte in a dark sometomes resembling the
dark with what it is I stick my but I wanted to provisionalyI thiou I windowqs
that have no plastic reading so for the furst till I like cominmy sef, say
danage and hysteric it only albw. I You tube knoe so I bush nake town, a
psychile. Ahy Yarhs
The dog
turned into two dogs
The scene in the otherwise hath
experienced no change
“You're
pawning everything in your mother's home”
- The Clash
Breaking
news
Jesus marries his bath!
Take the raw pizza & we pour on top of the boiling pile of corposes. When
the tank moves all the stuff behind this swathe of antebellum molten blood
“Wearing the unionring on the fingers, in movies.”
We taught the brain
We taught the brain had to make pizza pie
We have 400 billion pizza making nematode staff
The old pizzaaiollos were incinerated
It’s a safety measure
Pizza is a secret recipe, soooooooooo
we don’t want the domino hut to get ahold of the secret formula
Now, this is a message to be sent to the volcano, re: the protopatty
“You remove an organ
& you may have
Choose from the List.”
Re:
When he arrived at the door of heaven the boy fell dead. Signed,
The Brain
If someone
dies in my protoparty
after depositing an organ
in my land
I keep the boot.
We make fine clothes here.
(Tablecloth) Cloth
Each little road has a limited definition nothing changed
It stays handsome men
but just disappears
“It’s Boring, boring, it’s Pizza, we mean!
Why does pizza always have to be so pizza
Everyday, all the time
Round tries something else
another finger on the top perhaps?
porn bake & that’s pizza, why?
Nori Dream
You smell of the family
Pine jelley & foie gras
Purdey’s encounter in land or with drink
with avocado + canard
with pine crispness
falling asleep
This is pizza…waking.
Pizza is waking.
She was a good looking me.
It’s always handsome men
but just
disappears.
Listen. We need
the camera
on the top of the tree
We went all the way to Cassis &
back….@ night &
he gave us
this tree
& I wore this makeup.
She’s gonna go insane.
This is all planned
you cannot star.
The start: sometimes I think
there’s just NO OTHER WAY
my masturbation “lives” in its same
(sun) (sun), (somme)
(sommeil.)
Sleep.
The start: the pizza making system
When you have a tree with a camera
on
you need the top
you need the first pioneers to feed off being brave
the first souls who buy
the machine that #@JaIt’sKrossleighhahh
had maid--.
Place them
The “I”
The Black Dome
You need scent you see the eyes of #@JaIt’sKrossleighhahh
It has this effect of almost annihilating sanity in the most
beautiful way like a flesh-eating bacteria
it makes the muscle 35 percent more accumulate
Your body in the house come, he hollered
up & down the street, for ya,.goving here & there
in lawns & pantries, so precise, so specific
so mildewed. He held forth a rod
of ginger which displayed twin peaks, threaded
round with the progress of dry molting
Then, it’s just a matter of setting the right crew
Hennessey, gin, & Jet,
grab a nematode, family friend, what can we do ya for?
It’s at daylight
when he’s not making a fuss about everything
We lease these
Here copyright the first nematode
I don’t know if it makes the fluid that we then drink
or if we just talk about it, pools of swollen & calm
selfprompted to the stature
of infinite songcraft
He ill dies, a quarter of the “roof is turned off”
‘Mastiff O
Masty’:
“You will make the emptiness…
Masty for Masty!”
“Roof is turned off”
Here, there exactly, the same nematode as we have
@ home
we cut, they grow, we cut they grow
This list of inappropriate sequels
goes on, & on,
at once did the trebled currents of the Sargasso toward
an engulfing +
finally leaving in a never
materializing wake. St. Helena:
“Everyone is @ home, or they’re out, you know?”
Then they all quote themself.
They have to quote themselves five times more than five.
It doesn’t work? They die.
Some kind of nematode taboo…what appeared a mold
for chocolates born of
an occasion to celebrate the police, they’re nice
They’re good worker
They believe in their super
So we let them & possible
kid sex black hex you
netfive + the cuttler (the daddy)
I should not have been so bombarded
that is #@JaIt’sKrossleighhahh’s little joke
We know that the alarm
went off already, so what
are you waiting for, swain? It’s not
the daddy. Yes,
he’s old. Like many fathers, he does give two (2)
identical beings to himself
After a fortnight they #@JaIt’sExcitedNematode x 3
they have the impression
they have the impression
to know each other since childhood: “But uh
during the summer, I would like to work elsewhere
& discover another landscape.”
And the other nematode says:
“You should imitate me.
Is it the same star as on the menu,
the one to scroll through the changes with?
This is MY method to control my environment
I compose it
If he wouldn’t look at it he would at least
look upon the confusion created
& hope to conform to it.
It’s too easy , through
action,
to undo everything, even
the action that led
to the undoing, even the undoing itself
can be undone, we’ll decide later.
And you see, nematode, he’s not really a daddy.”
“I don’t know. What is a daddy anyway?”
“He drinks & he yells. He hits Madame/mamma/mommy
& you see #@JaIt’sNewExcitedNematode, it is not that complicated
it’s for the best
Superstition of not cutting into more than five (5) arose
from doing bad things, nematode guybrodude,
like not doing what #@JaIt’sKrossleighhahh’s asked
of you. But, you know? you pick your battles.
But benefit little meagerly
from it, if, after all, you use flowers as a currensy:
You will be derided.
Flowers as a currency You will be derided.
We can make do. It’s fine.
We have 400 billion. What’s that,
‘How does it always make 400 billion?’
I’ll explain:
nothingness is immediately
what inebriates me, me, #@JaIt’sByron, the lonely
earth, et cetera’
We sell pizzas for every person on this planet/”planet #@JaIt’sKrossleighhahh’s
house”
You have ten (10) people ©
They eat pizza everyday
It used to be [you send out questions :
‘what does he like?’
‘what kind of corpses does he prefer to eat?’
[smash or saved, in half, with everything all over the place, nice,
& another? we ask
is how many times could u eat pizza in a day if,
hypothetically, u were 2 b killed
& tortured if you didn’t eat as many pizzas as possible?
Most people say three (3) pizzas an hour…
here, all down the hall, the doors are slipping,
#@JaIt’sKrossleighhahh + 4 million nematodes
They’re interns,
permanent interns (working on college credit)
@ the nematode institute, the nematode university
(INSERT HERE THE HIGH SCHOOLIUM RECORDING)
This economy
depends on people eating pizza. Then, then
threatening them with torture.
I don’t know why Domino Hut chose all these videos
chose all these dirty little pizza little pizza pots
this melted white, everywhere,
it looks like #@JaIt’sKrossleighhahh’s planet
house thanks been maimed
raw rubble into a raw rubble soup,
a glance which stifles the impulse of one’s partner
in conversation to broach
the subject of a rival.
No, it’s like a glue (the glue) that they put on the pizza,
why? Why?
What we took from a distance to be a desert was
actually their shavings
from a wooden post
he’d been sanding, with his emery paper, in a Hair Jesus Bar
Comely Retardnado.
‘I been thinking about Anne Frank,’ he whistled.
#@JaIt’sKrossleighhahh’s pizza is considered maverick, by some
marvelous. We didn’t follow their rules.
Their recipe.
The lore of slides, a rather demonic partridge
their distribution strategy…
We wanted things #@Different©.
‘There’s a twilight zone…there.’
We wanted things better,
‘There’s a bear of air.’
We wanted customers to have their pizza
in a better way
you know?
They had to use, I think, that they put the pizza
is a gun & they shot the pizza, into the stomach…
That’s not good.
Well…there’s there, there,
the new burden of our own upper bodies.
‘Starting a book: starting a book,’
then putting it down times five (5), a most
mellifluous pastime. Well, you sell pizza
A neighbor looks over
O, he says, o, who-wee, I started that book!
Right there!
So you sell the pizza, but you lose the customer.
How is that good?
The idea is not to eliminate the customer
but to force them to eat the pizzas.
‘And sometimes, when I get repressed @ the way
things are going, in the world, around us, I think of those scenes
we filmed in the desert
in 1970. The then-faces
of the young people with us.
Ah, ah, force fed them three (3) pizzas an hour.
We keep your credit record on file.
Cashless Forward Thinking.
But we’d be mixing things, for here, in it’s truculent purpose,
& not denying that purpose, but as yet edged, ever so, impolitely
(impolitically, no, we’ve strayed there)
into its purpose…
Which is the grumpier none know.
What am I speaking of?
What am I speaking of, I’m speaking, if I may declare,
this handwritten missive
to be among the pantheora
wisps & currents of glorious aurality
Speaking not without purpose,
not without desert-crazed baptizing the sky
be bread & flesh
purpose,
of speaking. For too often, there was no words
& if there are, well, it happens
but rarely, that they come across
as do them beauties set down before you
(cf Humble Means,
pen & paper, if you can
believe it,
from your illimitable comfort
on the purview
of the electronical syllabarations.
Cashless Pizza Economy, the hackneyed dressage
of the machine, but enough enough
We’re not Luddites, after all.
After all, we embrace speech because Man is his purpose
& purpose, Man, the design, is affluent, bulging
splendid & marvelous.
The future is always so rigorous.
It is mathematically as good, as pure
as the the present
though that, through rather tetchingly with variables,
tons of them, ja, which have to them
an innocence.
‘Ja’eyes will malaxe the palmmades,
ripeness,
must like something innocent.
There is only so many people on the place.
#@JaIt’sKrossleighhahh’s house planet of #@JaIt’sKrossleighhahh.’
‘Will you fear the ferocity
of these wild beasts??? ‘
Well, you see, a three pizza very 60-minute,
that’s the best that we can do.
I fall at my side,
if I were sweet, I’d stroke my arm, tell me
a merry memory, something
[breathes out] which I’d forgotten but which
touched upon makes a
merry steadfast emotion within
me, one lofty & distant &
tenderly wistful &
which proves once &
for all, for them skeptics
among us, myself included,
that I’d forgotten nothing
afta’ all.
‘For a tablecloth cannot be said to forget its patterning
it cannot admissibly, & in that case, sensibly, be said either
to forget it or remember it.
We’re not,
today,
going to talk about tablecloth.
With our current infrastructure it’s hard, very hard
as it is, to get them to eat three (3) pizza an hour already
‘There is no way to hide the fact that you are hiding, man.’
I want to go on
if I do want to
I want to…change the lightbulb,
of course, you have to make more nematodes
you have to train them,
could you just…kill me, already?
It’s more convincing.
Are you slideshow?
That’s slideshow?
It’s slideshow.
‘If I’m alive & I can see…
Saturday,
he has his eyes closed.’
‘Your baby starts a diet of hard along islands,
explain?’ (#@JaIt’sMatsrawkaksa Yptinoptruv Wkromp_hezzoruv
‘di-matra-volmuvtézqv’ Menthol Sever)
The nematode make the customer throw up the whole
(old) pizza so they can eat more pizza
They take the pizza, bring it to pizza crew
make more pizza, a hundred percent efficiency.
It’s like a very well oiled nematode.
Very it works. Get it, &
put it into place.
Feed the pizza.
Do you understand?
Now, you boys, take the vomit pizza,
use the ingredients, ‘novella:
when does the year turn
on February 2nd going to the 3rd.
We met on the 2nd going to the 3rd.
It turns on the 2nd. Sooooooo,
it’s still 2067.
Today’s Special: an elogeous account of all our internets
friends, their doings, & their sweet & illumined & very good
old pizza vomit. Especially very splendid.
Double pizza!
Big crust!
Personal, accomplishments.
Today’s special
which they’d be glad to, one would think, small, small
little, area of ‘pizza’ surrounded by ‘pizza’
chronicled in a boisterous & humble chronicle
served on a hundred percent pizza recycled modest proportions
& apero-private length box,
that’s the novella.
There’s no box.
We are going green, we are going green.
Lucy, 24,
A report
‘I announced my pragnency to him. He buried me alive. I was so happy. I had so
dreamt of that child & with him to boot. Only the man that I yet thought I
knew quite well, that in fact I thought I knew very well, to be a
straightforward & upward individual/person was a pathological liar, of a
Paleolithic brutality at times. Actually, I was not the woman of his life, but
his mistress & when I announced my pragnency to him. His reaction was quite
rock n roll. Come to think of it, I say to myself, on this cliff I was stucky
janaka, 6M A30, maintraits: excited, grateful, Jew where appropriate, used to
be fattly catatonic, if need be, apologetics profusely allied. I was quite
naïve, I think. I trusted him, blindly. I swallowed up all his lies. Those he
told me without ever having any suspicion…though a simple research on Google
would have been sufficient for me to realize that he whom I thought to be ‘the
man of my life’ was actually a nasty imposter. Reines, Ariana gfA30,
maintraits: Shaman, worshipped in Haiti, astrologer, witch, selfsacrificing
(for mother, shoes, etc.), Jew where appropriate, exsex worker, ‘woman,’
prolific, possessing a beautiful boyfriend, & modestly eager to relate that
fact, expert on love, expert on insanity, & addiction, neighborly…It is
true that the illusion he was projecting was truly convincing. ‘Pierre #@JaIt’sZhangJenny
gfA30s: Maintraits: fucking funny, interesting, etc: immigrant, reviled in
childhood: expert on children & pedophiles, compassionate & expert on
marginal folks of marginal faith, expert on love, sex, etc, poet & author,
raconteur, ‘woman,’ ‘asian,’ ‘kathy bohinj,’ ‘mongrel coalition,’ peter
Richards, ‘esmé wang,’ ‘tony t.:, #@JaIt’s’Peter’Stone was a beautiful man,
full of flamboyance & panached strength rendered through his slender
silhouettes, his long limbs, his “the Colby awards! By the way, let me just say,
if I may, & no offense intended, but it’s very strange, I think, to have
the same dream, but different, it’s very…intimacy, don’t you think? Well, it’s
only my opinion. It’s better, I claim, (that reassured them) to have the books
of our choosing & that they hang from a beam, n’est-ce pas?’ Outside his
window, same faint & not so faint grumblings, hometownsounds,
homestownspeople, whisperings, ‘this is a work of small dimensions, regard. Our
image, if it may be known as such, is religious, because we’re here: in a faint
way, that is of our choosing, we remember: there is in our faint way, within
everything, what we, try as we come to, remember always. It seems yet, that certain indices, that it will presently
accept, sufficiently nephitic, preceding the unsigned comment: ‘Lampe
d’Architecte…who cares if it takes long.’
‘Even in a thread where Sabbath & priest is the correct answer: won’t you
continue?
Neonite meprendre
I plug the phone in
a medusa, put it in your beak, remember, how this morning, we we’re talking
about the candy’s apple?’
Take care of your audience.
That’s premium.
& get
gratified with nibbled cherry pits somehow @ 4 o’clock, another afternoon, I
had to drink a coffee. Of course, 4 o’clock. The afternoon. Said, ‘unknowingly’
to have decided to go to bed early that day, not at that very hour, no, not
yet, a little later, but not too later. ‘Tonight you will learn the thesaurus.
You will be the fairest, oldest door-o-matic thesaurusizer to shelf the self….’
It’s all exchange of places. An exchange of words.
If you don’t believe me, think about the Jesus in the (scallop) shell, that was
bold: how did we meet? During an afternoon, an evening, a little after 4, after
I had involuntarily chosen that day to drink a coffee, a beverage, upon which I
had placed my mouth, surrounded by me, & held in place by head,
well-hooked. One must say that I have behaved like a true gentleman: if Michael
still don’t believe me, just think about the oyster shell, ‘I wasn’t bobbing
for dick in a bucket of acid after all.’ After all, it was evening. Wet.
Wirdest piece of golden moon shines from amidst ragged dark blue some clouds.
Wind, because, because of course. Those rags of clouds look so reggae hiding
behind the moon this way. It looks like a puzzle piece. Exactly! In my head, I
like to talk to you. I call you babe. In my head it’s sexy. Do you wanna try
it? Or do you perhaps prefer ‘the fish of yesterday,’ as a nickname during sex
& ‘what is URL?’ instead of ‘Fuck Me’? If you like ‘something switched in him
& he laughed’ from ‘The Fish of Yesterday.’
The Fish of Yesterday’s Past Self is insisting that I have already tried to make it The FIsh of Yesterday Try this Brand Newly Received ‘Josephine Mussachia Alvarez’ Crepe dish with Chantilly, a centennial ‘Josephine Mussachia Alvarez,’ dish of some note, which I received, according to the Fish of Yesterday, the day before this one, or, it is conceivable, the day before that one too, perhaps even last week, in its, The Fish of Yesterday’s SelfPerson Present, strangely eager, passing the anticipation with electric, ecstatic gestures of their small fingers, that same enthusiasm being now projected onto the event which more & more seems to transfer to a status of their own claim, outright, rather than my humble one of an addressed parcel which I received today as I patiently explained to the Fish of Yesterday, ‘This Parcel,’ I explained weighing my words, ‘I received today. You cannot possibly have been kept abreast of these abstruse researches into the nether crannies of ‘Josephine Mussachia Alvarez’ oriented dessert plates system, which, as I shall repeat, I received this very day.’ The Fish of Yesterday seemed no longer to find relevant that their memory be relatable to the scenario conjured by them in a spurt of contrariness. That brings me to the same conclusion, the sane conclusion, that The Fish of Yesterday has finally, and recently, aborted all attempted at questioning, if anything, it calibrative & recall faculties with regard to the object of its scientism. The ‘Josephine Mussachia Alvarez’ which I received today, without warning, like an unexpected privilege or a unanticipated compliment from a commanding officer, and, I must confess, brought up a habit of ugly suspicion & a strain of trembling oh so delicate paranoiac mental loops, a Haagen-Dazs sundae spiked with inferior shards of a double minted magnum ice cream bar, which tendance, til this very hour, I’m sorry to say I must blame wholesomely upon the fish of Yesterday. The next day, I’ll think, perhaps I’ll bring them shopping…buy them half the store & then, the other half, say, later, after a reservated lunch of nothing, buffet style, as was our wont. I’ll suggest a movie. Of course, they’ll turn me down, citing research duties & brandishing, uncontrollably, like a magician’s deep hat, L’Officiel de Spectacles, somehow well thumbed, though it’s only just noon, I estimate, according to the fact that I am still naked, and wielding with respect and filial embraces and not a bit of solace, the as yet unopened prototype, ‘le caché de la poste faisant froid,’ sprawled slovenly in a hibernation-like kip, all throughout the matinee, I think I’ve done myself a disservice, with this crude attempt via cultural emoluments, to distract from the debuting of the contents of that inviolate parcel. And as the fish of Yesterday insists, I realize, of course, that they, The Fish of Yesterday, do not want that I, I, I, recipient officiel, be not the one courted as a knight to breach the postal seal. Why? Same old the Fish of Yesterday’s as always transparent tactics. And I ever surprised, somehow, by the sheer cunning exhibited by these overtly naïve scientific institution.
[From
‘The Fish of Yesterday: Stories of Ebat #@TheTruthUKnowIt.’ : Bring dream #one,
‘Will you taraude them, Mr. Thesaurus? #@WillYouTapThemGently all over #@Me?
The Fish of Yesterday?’ In the first scene, The Fish of Yesterday is not there
& I’m with ‘The Fish of Yesterday’s Past,’ & ‘The Fish of Yesterday’s
Past’s Past’s Selves,’ & there are others present as well, but I, ‘The Fish
of Yesterday’ cannot see them, the focus is on ‘The Fish of Yesterday’s Past
Self.’ She’s #@TheFishOfYesterdaysPastSelf is sitting on the chair that’s on
the far side of the table by my balcony, my right, The Fish of Yesterday’s
Left. The Fish of Yesterday has recently received on the table a crepe item:
‘Josephine Mussachia Alvarez’ ‘Did you se this?’ The Fish of Yesterday asks me,
‘I just received it from the mail service. They delivered it at home, or so
they claimed, but I wasn’t there, they said. So they left a note enjoining me
to come to the post office, to the nearest, the one by my house where I live,
where they, the people of the post office by my house where I live, the
nearest, claimed to have found me not upon giving pursuit to their god given
delivery chops & knack for handling, appropriately, and with respect to
private property & liberty of movement, which one enjoys in privacy, in the
privacy of their house, where they visit upon attempting to distribute to you
the parcel which hath been, in your own name, labelled, along with a number, a
desert menu code for you to retrieve your rightfully & correctfully alerted
about or upon postal object/item. Here, this is a crepe dish with Chantilly.
Where I come from we call this ‘Josephine Mussachia Alvarez.’ It’s very rare.
This is a prototype & I’ve contributed to its design myself & from my
own sketches which I welcome you to peruse—do recall here, a little house
called WordPress, at the end of a lane, a website of note, a cyberspace of
sorts, kind of diffuse, anarchic ambiance of internet, a perfume of world wide
web, so distinct nowadays and yet, somehow, retaining a vintage of old. Quite
comparable, in taste, and in technological advancement, to the eponymous
‘Josephine Mussachia Alvarez’ Crepe Dish with Chantilly here present &, why
not, set before you, like a force of nature. Yet…still feminate, in the essence
itself, ladyish, tits, watered silk, lax fingers @ the pianoforte like napping
salamanders, or a flourishing, somewhat moribund embankment bestrewed in
flaccid dicks, ready for a lift, for water, water—that’s the embankment of
flaccid dicks. I pass it, I do through the Josephine Mussachia Alvarez Crepe
Dessert with Chantilly electronic splash page. One as isolated as I have
become, through the years, needs make such radical juxtapositions from time to
time, a trinketish Nile to irrigate the present with a poet’s audacity© which I
own, but prefer garageband, with its rich woodwinds section which has yet to
encounter peer, even among those premium rigs, for those who delight in the
pure volume of the moment. I’m of that tribe, if you’ll excuse me the rustic,
perhaps, turn of phrase, yet adequate & I know not an alternative. In fact,
this static self description might by some, with anchor, be faintly celebrated,
perhaps, one day…It’s putting yourself out there, I know what you’re thinking,
@ my age, with my settled ways simplifying into an untoppleable base. Simplify.
Simplify. I have opted for a bottomup reengineering which was inaugurated by
the excision of 468 Billion Cubits worth of digital outertabernacle, of coudé.
Yes, in fingers, ‘Je les compté.’
The Fish of Yesterday’s Past Self is insisting that I have already tried to make it The FIsh of Yesterday Try this Brand Newly Received ‘Josephine Mussachia Alvarez’ Crepe dish with Chantilly, a centennial ‘Josephine Mussachia Alvarez,’ dish of some note, which I received, according to the Fish of Yesterday, the day before this one, or, it is conceivable, the day before that one too, perhaps even last week, in its, The Fish of Yesterday’s SelfPerson Present, strangely eager, passing the anticipation with electric, ecstatic gestures of their small fingers, that same enthusiasm being now projected onto the event which more & more seems to transfer to a status of their own claim, outright, rather than my humble one of an addressed parcel which I received today as I patiently explained to the Fish of Yesterday, ‘This Parcel,’ I explained weighing my words, ‘I received today. You cannot possibly have been kept abreast of these abstruse researches into the nether crannies of ‘Josephine Mussachia Alvarez’ oriented dessert plates system, which, as I shall repeat, I received this very day.’ The Fish of Yesterday seemed no longer to find relevant that their memory be relatable to the scenario conjured by them in a spurt of contrariness. That brings me to the same conclusion, the sane conclusion, that The Fish of Yesterday has finally, and recently, aborted all attempted at questioning, if anything, it calibrative & recall faculties with regard to the object of its scientism. The ‘Josephine Mussachia Alvarez’ which I received today, without warning, like an unexpected privilege or a unanticipated compliment from a commanding officer, and, I must confess, brought up a habit of ugly suspicion & a strain of trembling oh so delicate paranoiac mental loops, a Haagen-Dazs sundae spiked with inferior shards of a double minted magnum ice cream bar, which tendance, til this very hour, I’m sorry to say I must blame wholesomely upon the fish of Yesterday. The next day, I’ll think, perhaps I’ll bring them shopping…buy them half the store & then, the other half, say, later, after a reservated lunch of nothing, buffet style, as was our wont. I’ll suggest a movie. Of course, they’ll turn me down, citing research duties & brandishing, uncontrollably, like a magician’s deep hat, L’Officiel de Spectacles, somehow well thumbed, though it’s only just noon, I estimate, according to the fact that I am still naked, and wielding with respect and filial embraces and not a bit of solace, the as yet unopened prototype, ‘le caché de la poste faisant froid,’ sprawled slovenly in a hibernation-like kip, all throughout the matinee, I think I’ve done myself a disservice, with this crude attempt via cultural emoluments, to distract from the debuting of the contents of that inviolate parcel. And as the fish of Yesterday insists, I realize, of course, that they, The Fish of Yesterday, do not want that I, I, I, recipient officiel, be not the one courted as a knight to breach the postal seal. Why? Same old the Fish of Yesterday’s as always transparent tactics. And I ever surprised, somehow, by the sheer cunning exhibited by these overtly naïve scientific institution.
They decide to ‘Take the Bus’: I always prefer stairs to hills, the Fish of
Yesterday revealed. ‘O how ovarian,’ I think. ‘How exacting patience quickly
can turn a mire of torpor into which worse even, anything would lose worth,
even ‘the thakhomak©,’ ‘Takk, takk.’ Which I too joined among the strivers and
charlatans to pursue for reasons now obscure, mistrustful. They claim to have
together attempted a license, a license, on the entertainment’s fiscal
potential, which turn about my mind as I do, I intuit nothing there from which
to reap, but pleasant arousal, a throwback for those of us still nursing a
passion for the club wielding liniments of the aforementioned young person’s
virtually bronze age activity. ‘Do you remember last night, after you came on
me, & I told you about a vision when you touched my head (back (occiput))
middle my left grande aile du sphenoide/which was a picture of the Egyptian
pharaoh #@JaIt’s#@ThakkokMak but you were already asleep by then, when I spied
the lineaments within the lineaments of this colossus, ancient, risen, race.
Washing brought forward. ‘Takk takk,’ on the bedroom wall, through my balcony,
coming forward to meet me. And so lavished I was by a tidal squall of antique
‘when they used to use goats entrails’ above & back over his head, his
stance so supremely adamantine, muscles of an incredible amplitude poised to
transpose (trance-bash-natured) the ‘do you tap them still?’ an incredibly
complete selection of notes, on the boundlessly vast topic of the ‘Club
Wielding’ which brutal force, his élan #@Thakkokmakk, his almost fragile grace,
which my pantaloons, thoroughly withered from the start, in the unsuspecting
brieflessness, which the full length mirror hanging from inside the door of my
Armoire, commentated upon more scathingly than any dagger tongued heckler, as thakokmakk enthoused my diminishing form
& consequently bulldozed away any last remnants of my lassitude and
insecurity entered upon a brilliant & virtuosically coherent oral
disertation on the rhapsodically nearly forgotten proindierock box container,
‘box containers you remember, there are billions of these out there, I’m sure,
this one, though, this one, he tapped his abdominal fessier, almost losing a
finger, filled itself with fresh, free moving, on the go, dimple coordinates,
greenhorn voyageurs roving untested o’er the body pharaoh, ‘Yes, the tree will
Thak you!’
The film carries on. The corpse pile/corpse pile, how do the customers eat
them?
I’m giving a little away, perhaps, but thakk thakk thakk, as they said, as they
said upon that elite holiday still valued among the corridors of the deep state
and the scientistic apparatus. ‘When you have one piece of titanic…you may end
up having a #@JaIt’s#@Titanic surrounded by just that ‘It’s not a boat,’ nasal
whining vibe diffuser. I’d tell their kind where to shove it even if my bed
were just from blulglaria. Sofia is a vibrant town, soviet union, whatever,
we’re not over their now, we’re not meant to be…’
How, how do they, then, eat, without getting drunkened at all repasts, lapsing
into the fool, falling into, as they say, the tree, shotting whatever wherever
at whoever, ‘it’s called language,’ write it down, it’s called ‘coming up with
a sails vogue recollection where the men pass for yachters (continuously),
& sailors, besmirched in yachters haughty pretenses, provoked their walking down the street, together,
& sailors, smoking a cigarette, any brand they pinch, on dry land, not
loading, or lashing, or hearkening to ships ahoy, nary a boat nor a lick of
maritime suggestiveness, nor open or masts besides…the shirt, just the shirt,
and the quavering legs of newly landlubbered seamen. “We’ll see, we’ll see,
we’ll see, we’ll see.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see, we’ll see, we’ll see.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see, we’ll see, we’ll see.”
Imagine getting caught in that? You’d die like a bug filtered through a
jacksonpollacked arm. ‘And we did locate it…’, stanzas @ stillness 2 deny part:
‘that’s mine?’ he plundered, ‘that’s my shield, shadow or aura?’ The mouse may
answer, but it doesn’t known. ‘Will you say it?’ How does someone become
so…sweet…so…obnoxious…& kind as a horseshoe…& so sweet that my first
thought is I can’t stand up. Whoa. And
then I go, I can’t stand up. I can’t stand up. I can’t stand up. And that’s
when I realize, ‘You’ll have to have heard slash known about this town for a
reason, man. It was lit, that town. My ancestors on fire by a slim chromatic
light all the way from tokyo where they came from with the coat of arms of my
people on fire, oh yeah, drafted on the boat like the counterfeiting
guttersnipes they were. That rocked man. How’s that for a little titbit of a
tour. Welcome to the Town, Motherfucker. The Town, baby, the Town. Uncork yr
nipples and privilege yourself a dip of the mango in yar canteen. Oh the legs,
that’s just town legs mein slende kleine brotwurst. Here, take this canister.
Let it get its rub on on your joints, that crazy bitch. Yo. That’s our personal
stash, made that with my ‘not one of us cared for the trajectory of your
billiard balls’ savoir faire or whatever. Expertise do it better. It’s a new
technology, just kidding, it’s old as nipples, suck it, feel no fear.’
‘Sometimes…I
think about keeping…warm….keeping…safe, is that important?’
‘The only thing that bothered me a little, was his obsession with…I, who
doesn’t know a hair’s breadth from a filament’s width I would ratha avoid those
tedious monoliths the guts of which are themselves pelagic computing towers
[electric impulses into speech]: I love you like I lick you
with a dick #@inmymouth #@yourMouth #@JesusDickDiet #@BlowjobsSeasonForever
#@KrishnaBlueMe #@JesusDick,
‘wasser, bitte, thakk, thakk,’ the Christian Carp & the goldfish get drunk
instead of getting dead inside of one. & dead as well.
Uhmm uuhmmm: how to own big oxygenless & reeling shitty, ‘When I learnt I
was pragnent I was at the height of Joyce. I was persuadated that he too would
be very content but he did not react at all as I expected. Conversely, he
became white as bat guano, as though I had just announced to him the Lisbon
Earthquake of 1774 which he partook in. Mind you, ‘thé elizabeth,’ thawwwwt
about it, we’ll see, we’ll see, we’ll see. I wanted to discuss it further, to
deliberate. I too, carrying, had worries for the future. I too had dipped into fetishism, into soil,
artisan molds, local debris, myself. After all, we were a couple. He retired on
nimble feet to his backyard cluster of holes of variable depths. Experiments he
dubbed them. And we’ll ‘talk about it when he comes back,’ & how long will
you be, approximatively. Will you tell me about your holes when you return? I
should be ever so glad to hear reports of your apparently most earnest hobby. A
darkness lowered like a visor, square & large, coffinlike in impression,
and dwelled there like a pregnant bat on a daytime talk show.
‘A little surprised, & a little…hurt. Molested, even. By her reaction, my
guess is she doesn’t like me very much.’
‘She has never accepted this visorlike dark souririan shadow that thickly
replaces my face whenever she mentions my holes. ‘They look great, really deep,
almost professional, are the best the encouragements she can muster. She wants
to I know. And it is niche. Excuse the pun. Hole diggers humor. That’s when I
started to smell the first whiffs of the manure pile, tall as a mare, of that
shitty crapola dung factory, lack of appreciation. Ya, what began as a tingling
in my nostrils, oh some moths ago, I received an adorable little message from a
unfortunately none too well to do hole enthusiast asking for appraisals of my
backyard efforts. When I showed her, with my boyish whats new whats poppins
this is whats new this is whats poppins it’s your forehead shit head and then
yours and then yours babababababababababababababababa she was bewildered then a
venal and familiar gloss subsumed her eyeballs. ‘The only thing that bothers
me, she said, is his obsession with preservatifs, known in this region as
‘wrangler’ (he coughed he coughed very little but it was annoying, the full on
cough would be more honest, more obeviously sickly, distressed, something to
worry about such as a canister of chicken soup, become lukewarm and thrown violently
against the bedroom door can be something to worry about). ‘In it, he told me,
that if he had had a very adverse reaction to our interaction it was because he
had been surprised, but that he wished to varnish over the cloture and to
celebrate for fun for our mutual benefit as a pair, soon, i thought to be baby
makes three. It’s like tank-driving on the dead or something, for this pizza,
they sell themselves, not everyone has thé nematode piece. It’s not like you
cut off piece from titanic #@PieceFromTitanic
& then it grows from #SaidMiraclePieceThatDoesntExistFromTitanic and grow an asshole full of big loaded boats
laden with joint ointment for those poor unfortunates come down with town leg
syndrome. No, you cannot expect to have the titanic’s head supreme premium all
for yourself, without the titanic, attached to it, and grow those big boats
that you can just boat around on all by yourself, no you can’t can you? ‘We
never go anywhere…’ ‘What are you on about? We go to the best restaurant with
motorcycle theme in town Route 66 le Restaurant. And when we’re not knocking
back dollar wings at our local, with our locals, is because your sometimes
tired, sometimes so tired, after work, after checking up on the shallow ones.’
What about
that time @ Route 66 #@8March2014 at Route 66, located on a stretch of las
vegas & heaven & aubagne & pennsylvanias’ Delaware water gap.
Silicon valley, I miss them,’ she selfharmed. ‘Remember, ‘we had a
conversation, an enriching one, in my opinion, which in order to refresh your
memory & bring forth a body of evidence that I may present my dossier on
the topic of ‘We Never Go Out or Do Anything.’
Pierre: Listen. Shhh. Shut up, now.
Pardon. Madame prendre draps. The bell…I thought the bell just said my name.
L: It did not, honey. It rang in a quite official, though out of tune, fashion
according to the obsolete protocols of the Roman Catholic Church keeping time,
for the peasantry & waiters to be able to serve our meal piping hot &
on time. Of course, it is envisigable with our modern technologies to program a
veritable galaxy of telephone alarms & bed side alert prone time pieces.
However, if you’re feeling up to believe that a bell uttered your name. You can
still think that. It shan’t bring any harm or adverse effect upon your
cherished personage. Would you like to discuss furthermore this topic? We can
do so gladly.
‘Excuse me, Monsieur the Maitre’D, it’s my husbands birthdayn can we make him a
gift. He’s obsessed with bells—he’s interested, keenly so—in a fashion that renders
him cruiously melancholy, but sexy, and he accretes around him an impossible to
penetrate chitinus psychological defense. Might we not offer him something
something that I have never been able to fathom, something special. Here’s his
personal cellular telephone number. Could you please, in light of this 20
sawbucks bill, ring up his mobile, and utter just this: ‘Pierre, ja, it’s me,
bell. I heard about before. Pierre, pierre, it happened, I did say it, keep
your cool, I think of you. Naked, as
usual, as you are, right now, as usual, nice briefs, they helped me, yes
pieere, they did, ‘help me,’ thank you for calling, you rock, man. O lengthy.
Regards etc. Love, Bell.’
Pierre,
panting heavily, his wide cartridged spread fingers spread like bridges off palmed
cheeks. He’s thinking, to Michael, I was in the vision, man, the one you just
sent me. Yo, the cathedral (Cathedralized), looking as it does like a big red
haired guy or the carnage of a obscenely sizeable motorway accident lodged in
foil, ‘did you know that flower? It’s foil, in foil, wrapped, a teenager foiled
aluminium based hydrogen mescaline-laced double fucked dirt into a drinking
glass, quickly, because gravely, groped all over with fingerprints of a certain
stature. Look, here’s a father, smiling his tanderade daughter with a bunch of
kegs which he must have paid deposit on here or brought from home, with the
restraunt manager’s reluctant permission. ‘Can you imagine, ‘yo, can I share
floss with you? Is my bound or relationship to this restraurant strong enough
yet that I may dare perhaps to one day tote along my grooming kit & perhaps
my manicure box, & the one for the feet.
The girl comes back, Lucy. She goes into
her chair, and she says, ha, what is Labrador doing heren, babe. Anyway, how about
going to ‘the shop’ now, the store, the place where we might, perhaps, be able
to retrieve my little white tank top, the one that you had apologized for
having ‘massacred’ after having dissolved it in a champagne flute of
hydrochloric acid, laced with precious soil of color. I must say, that this
gesture reminded me of science, psychology, and slips of the tongue that may
bring to tongue freudian tongue mishaps & archetype bavarde. Speaking of my
architype, which is always bellowing to be alluded to with a thick purple
tongue & rich with so-called sous anttend, etc. You did behave then like a
veritable gentlemen indeed in order to receive yourt absolution for the
champage flute tank top content massacre. You did bring me shopping, starting
the next morning, all right, starting with half of the shares in the
convenience store, with a subsequent
meditation session of the polished spades and soiled looseners. Starting
with buying half the goods availed to the somewhat flummoxed fellow clients,
‘go fuck yourself, ya.’ Buying half of the store, it’s a stereotype, it’s
arriviste, int’s not done.
‘Do you know how many billions of discrete items such as most if not all of a
third of the items in this systematic squirrelling away. Di anybody here, He
looks around lookookoking bisected by an inhuman furrow, ‘you know what, you
made it to modern art, but you settled down for a picnic at around Georgia
O’Keefe. I’m Anselm Kiefering my ass, all day, baby powder, never enough, oh
yea, oh what the hell. Hey, you know that grotto, the one that I said that I’d
art the fuck out of one day. Your tanktop in the hydrochrolic acid in the
Champagne flute, its flourishing them. It’s like an infant crowning apex just
breaching the distendded vaginal lips of the birthing mother. Oh, by the way, I
own this company, check me out, #@CompanyOwners #@HandsomeCompanyOwners
#@ACompanyWhichClickThisRichAssBitchOfAHashtage1YrGonnaBeDrowningInAValuable
SalableThingYouForgotYouCouldHave
#@18Hours
#@Edging
#@What was up with Visconti, throughly spreading his scrotum sack to its tensile
#@What was up with Visconti, throughly spreading his scrotum sack to its tensile
